Stinger
by anmani
Summary: Vartann has been called out to what seems a murderrobbery and is assisted by Nick and Greg. Disclaimer: The characters of CSI belongs to the CBS and not me. Just messing about with them


The continuous buzzing had begun to drone out all other sounds. So when finally the Denali made its approach Vartann jerked his head up in surprise. It still awed him how much involvement the CSIs had in cases in this city. Back home they had been some white clad ghosts only allowed out for big stuff, but they had also had a very different budget compared to the high profile lab here in Las Vegas.

The rising sun reflecting in the windshield made him unable to see the driver, but by the sound of the vehicle he had little doubt that it was Stokes driving. A CSI 3 would never have been granted to him for what seemed a simple murder/robbery in his old district. Vartann turned towards the obvious bored and annoyed milkman. Experience had taught him to wait for a CSI to arrive before an in depth interview and Stokes could pull a seriously pout if left out. The passenger door opened the instant the brake was put on, leaving Vartann slightly baffled as to who the passenger was until the chatter reached him. It seemed that Sanders had been allowed out for once.

"So what've we got here?" asked Nick.

"Male DB by his bulk tank." at the puzzled expression on Stokes' face Vartann drew breath to explain only to be cut off by Sanders.

"It's where dairy farmers store the milk before the milk truck comes by." said the young man eagerly pointing to the big dairy truck parked further down from where they all stood.

The milkman just nodded with a slight eye roll to emphasize his waning patience.

"Mr. Ross here found the owner Henry Hartmann when he came here about 2 hours ago for the milk."

"Have you known him long?" asked Stokes.

"I have. He came with the route when I got it 15 years back. Old school farmer, but he delivers. Usually meets me at the tank for a wee chat. Not many neighbors out here, ya know." explained Mr. Ross while glancing at his watch.

"Has he lived alone all the time that you've known him?" asked Vartann.

"Yeah, I sure as hell ain't ever seen anyone here but him and his animals. Reminds me I ain't seen the dog today."

"What kind of dog would that be?" asked Stokes.

In his peripheral view something was moving and Vartann turned his head enough to see Sanders trying to contain his curiosity and stay in place.

"Some mutt, black, rough coat and ye high." Mr. Ross accompanied his words by a hand just hovering above his knee.

An incessant ringing brought a temporary stop to the interview as they all waited for Stokes to take his call. After a few hushed words the CSI returned to the group with an apologetic smile creasing his face.

"Coroner got lost and won't be here anytime soon."

"Do I take the milk? Or just go on my way. I have other pickups to make and a deadline for that matter." grunted Mr. Ross.

A wordless dialogue between him and Stokes sent the milkman on his way, since the milk in the tank was now considered evidence. All three of them headed for the DB, but soon Sanders became skittish in his movements making him realize the state of the ground. There were piles cow pat scattered all over the yard.

"Maybe a change of outfit would be in place." suggested Vartann, thinking of his only good brown pair of shoes.

The suggestion was unanimously accepted and they headed back for their vehicles. The sun had gained in strength and was quickly warming everything up intensifying the rural smells. Vartann dug into the back of his car for his rubber boots hoping that the shaft would suffice since he hadn't any coveralls left. To his surprise Stokes shimmied out of his shirt before donning the lab issued coveralls.

"What?" one thing Stokes was incapable of was feigning innocence.

"You think there's some old lady with binoculars that you can impress?" ribbed Vartann.

"Hey, this shirt happens to be new and I don't need it all stinky." defended the CSI.

"And here I thought you just liked the denim rubbing your nipples." teased Sanders.

An exasperated sigh escaped Stokes before he stalked off towards their crime scene. The constant one upping between Stokes and his colleagues was an endless resource of fun, but that said, all of them took their work very serious. Sanders flashed him a goofy grin before rushing to catch up with Stokes.

The DB was face down on the ground with an old fashioned milk can lying next to him.

"Blunt force trauma, judging by the dent in that." stated Stokes.

"Dust for prints?" asked Sanders eagerly.

"Dust for prints and we should check out the house, see if this is a robbery gone bad." instructed Stokes calmly.

Bemused Vartann watched the eager apprentice transform into a focused and very serious CSI trainee doing exactly as told.

"I'll try and find that dog."

"Hey Detective, has the scene been cleared? I mean there're no uniforms around."

"It has Stokes, no need to worry. But there's only one radio car in this area and they got a call just after I arrived here." calmed Vartann.

Skimming the warning sign posted on the barn door Vartann entered into a world he'd only caught a glimpse of on a school trip years ago. Cows with shiny snouts and heavy udders stood lined up at the milking machine. Vaguely he remembered that cows would come in voluntarily for milking no matter how green a pasture they were on. A loud series of moos greeted him as he headed for the open door at the other end. The strong animal smell was diluted by hay and it wasn't as bad as he'd remembered from his school trip. The barn yielded no dog, nor anything he would think probative to the case.

The fenced in pasture looked empty apart from the small hills of dung swarmed by flies. Dismissing the idea of the dog being out there he turned to walk around the barn towards the house. The milkman had been right about the old school farming, Vartann realised when he entered the garden. There were row after row of vegetables and herbs, certainly more than one man could consume alone.

A sudden howl of pain disturbed his memories of Saturday markets, causing him to run in the direction of the profanities hissed by Stokes. Adrenaline flooded his brain preparing him for the worst case possible. With his gun drawn he rounded the corner of the barn. All hyped up it took him quite an effort to calm down after realizing that there was no real danger.

Stokes had been stung by a bee.

By the time Vartann was ready to act Sanders had carefully extracted the pumping stinger from Stokes' hand.

"You can holster that now. I'm pretty sure the bad guy is dead now." laughed Sanders nervously.

"You're not allergic to bees are you?" asked Sanders gently.

Vartann cursed inwardly for being so utterly useless to the CSI. But Nick just shook his head as he sucked on the wound. Being a city boy he'd never really needed to know how to deal with bees and beestings. Annoyed Vartann coupled the buzzing sound from earlier with the dead bee on the ground figuring that this being an old farm it probably also had a beehive somewhere.

"You know sucking on the wound is futile. You're only in trouble if you're allergic. I've got some hydrocortisone in my bag, that'll help." said Greg in a calming voice.

"My mom always had us suck out the poison." pouted Stokes. "What do you need hydrocortisone for Greg?"

"It's just a precaution in case of a Grissom." shrugged Sanders.

"Oh the mildew incident!"

Just as Vartann was about to ask them what they were talking about, his radio crackled to life. The connection was poor, but still good enough for him to understand that the call the radio car had responded to was similar to his case. Only they had apprehended two men leaving the scene.

"What was that?" asked Stokes. "Our case all solved?"

"Could be. Depends on the fingerprints you got of that, that…"

"Milk can." inserted Greg.

"Yeah milk can. The only thing missing here is that dog that Mr. Ross was talking about."

As if on cue a black mutt came into the yard followed by the young coroner and his assistant. It didn't take them long to examine and load the body. But still long enough for the uniforms to get a full confession from the perps they'd arrested.


End file.
